


Scion

by Tassos



Category: Farscape, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Promptfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam runs into John Crichton who is visiting Stanford. A conversation in four parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scion

**Author's Note:**

> No real spoilers. Written for khakigrrl.

John pulled his sunglasses out and fiddled with them before sliding them on his nose. “You know, I used to think that being a soldier wasn't for me. That there were other ways to solve problems.” He finally turned and looked over. Behind his shades, Sam couldn't read him, and he froze instinctively - he didn't want to hear what this man had to say.

John continued nevertheless. “Sometimes there's not another way, for whatever reason. And when you're always seeing things you can't unsee and walk by...well, you control what you can and fight for the rest and sometimes that gets to be a habit.”

Sam swallowed and looked away, eyes catching on his backpack with its books and spiral bound notebooks. Not true, he thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, John stood, fingers wrapping around the back of his chair. “Regret is a hard thing to live with.” The fingers loosed but didn't move, and the edges of Sam's shoulder straps blurred until he forced them back into focus.

John sighed from somewhere above him. “I don't know what else to tell you. Good luck, Sam, and thanks again.”

Sam didn't see him leave.

* * *

“He threw me out.”

“Did he mean it?”

Sam's gaze skittered from the person in line ahead of them to John at the question. He blinked. “Course he meant it,” he said, too loud. “He's a stubborn bastard who just wanted me to shut up and follow orders. You don't know him. Once he says something, it's law. It's not like he's even tried to contact me.”

“You tried calling him?”

Sam's jaw tightened and he glared. It wasn't his fault or his choice to be cut off completely. He'd thought summers, breaks . . .

It was their turn in line. He stepped enough ahead of John to cut the conversation short without being completely rude.

* * *

A small grin eeked out. “Hiding from my dad,” said John. “Believe it or not.”

Sam grinned back, a little puzzled, but he got that. “Long lost hero gig too much for you?” he said lightly, but curious underneath. Outer space. Everyone knew the story, but up close, Sam saw the same kind of man he grew up around.

John toed the foot just within in his reach. “I've got better things to be doing. All this? The PR? All Dad's idea. Get me out of the house, spread the good news.” John's arm flew with his words as he cut Sam a look laden with irony. “So much busy work that won't mean jack in the end.”

“Getting you out of the way, so he can get the real work done? Nice.” Sam settled on the wall beside him.

John shook his head, eyes darting to the corners of the building that hid them from view. “He's driving me crazy. But enough about me. I'm tired of talking about me. That's all everyone wants to do.” He kicked his foot out, and jostled the body on the ground. “Your dad really teach how to take care of things like that?”

* * *

Sam froze as his eyes met those of the man across from him. He was breathing hard, the adrenaline spike still fresh in his blood, and inside his head he was cursing himself ten ways from Sunday. Caught, caught, stupid, idiot, but it had been pure instinct.

Normally, Sam would be lying right now, smoothing it over, but he'd frozen because John freaking Crichton was standing across from him with blood on a knife that had come out of nowhere and eyes that were looking at Sam like he was the next threat. He didn't dare move. The body of the dog with wings and the wrong kind of tail wasn't going to be passed off as a frat joke here.

“That was . . . un expected,” said John Crichton as he lowered his knife. The tension gently eased away, and Sam took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he said carefully.

“They teaching critter killing at Stanford these days?”

“No.” Sam wasn't just caught, he felt trapped by the intensity of John Crichton's stare, like he could see through Sam to the other side. Despite the lightness of the question, Sam could still read people, knew that John Crichton still considered the knife an option. “My dad taught me.”

“Your dad taught you?”

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. “It's kind of the family business.” He glanced at the thing at his feet. Chimera. A weird one.

He heard a breath of a laugh. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Sam glanced up and saw that John Crichton had finally relaxed. The knife was gone, no doubt tucked away again and available at a split second's notice.

“I'm John.”

Sam blinked, smiled. “I know.” He reached out and took the offered hand. “Sam.”

* * *


End file.
